


Things Fall Apart

by iwtv



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Post-Civil War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 22:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: Tony shuts the door behind him and leans his forehead against it. Fuck. What was he thinking, coming here and agreeing to this? A week with Steve Rogers and no one else. Steve felt guilty and he was indulging him. But why? He wasn’t ready to forgive him. Not yet.





	Things Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Because I still have massive feelings over these two in CW and Infinity War didn't give us a resolution (yet!), so here we are! Comments are much appreciated. Enjoy!

_1 new message_

_Pepper: Hey, it’s been awhile. You doing ok?_

He hesitates in answering as the plane comes to a complete stop at the terminal. But it _had_ been awhile since they’d spoken. And chances were she had heard about this week-long invite from Rogers anyway.

_Tony: Yea, I’m doing ok, all things considered. Thanks for asking._

_Pepper: So are you and Steve really spending a week in a cabin? And hiking?!_

He sends her a ‘yes’ with a frown emoji and puts away his phone, glad for the distraction of disembarking. When he steps foot outside the airport, the warm spring air of North Carolina greets him. And there to pick him up—in the shabbiest rental car he’d ever seen—is Rogers, raising a palm in greeting.

*

They chat for a few minutes about his trip. Despite his mood Tony manages to make a crack about the car.

“This isn’t actually an antique, if that’s what you were looking for,” he quips, wincing as he looks at the worn upholstery. Steve gives him a small grin and shakes his head.

Tension follows on the heels of the silence during the remainder of the drive. It takes some effort not to look at Steve, not to have those ice-blue eyes meet his, despite the hot, simmering anger that Tony had let take root in his gut.

Everything has been dulled since the day he’d seen the video footage in that dank tomb somewhere in Russia. The team had been concerned about him, and though they’d all seen his suit banged up before, he only allowed them to see through a few cracks in his real armor.

Except for Steve, who had been there, who knew better than anyone what was underneath the iron.

They find the place without too much difficulty, taking one wrong turn that was a dead end. His mind is in a strange place. _Perfect metaphor for us,_ he thinks.

The cabin itself, when they arrive a little after four that afternoon, isn’t shabby at all, unlike the ‘dirt-covered wagon’ that had taken them there (his new nickname for the old hunk of junk).

Steve carries nearly all their combined luggage in at once, muscles bulging under his plain blue shirt.

“Well, not bad at all, is it?” he asks as they stand in the small living room.

Tony looks around them. It is quaint and cozy, the way he figures these places were supposed to be. It smells of Febreze and cedar. He didn’t know if he liked it or not, though of course Steve did.

Their rooms are on either side of a short hallway. Everything is wood, including the bed frame. He tests the mattress with his rear and a palm. Nothing like his own bed but not too firm either. Everything is tidy and seems clean, including the bathrooms, though there was some horrid brand of paper-thin toilet paper under the sink. They would certainly have to go shopping.

They re-join in the living room. Steve picks up the tv remote and turns on the small flatscreen.

“They have more than one history channel for you, I hope,” says Tony over his shoulder as he starts putting their road trip food and drinks away in the fridge.

“Ha ha,” Steve drolls out. “Believe it or not, I’ve gotten interested in a tv show called Star Trek. It’s old now, but it’s about a crew of people in the future aboard this space ship, called a starship—”

Head stuck in the fridge, Tony rolls his eyes, though he couldn’t keep his lips from curving up.

“Oh yea?” he calls out.

“Yea, and their mission is to explore space and seek out new life forms and new civilizations. But the two characters it focuses on most are Captain Kirk and Spock…”

Tony comes back to the living room and totes his luggage back to his room.

“Mmm hmm…”

“…And Spock, well he’s a chief science officer, but really he’s Kirk’s right-hand man in some ways. They’re fantastic together.”

“Yea I think I’ve heard.”

Tony comes back down the hall again. Steve is standing in front of the couch but he isn’t paying attention to the tv. His eyes are on Tony.

“Then you know that Spock can be difficult to deal with, and especially in the movies, he and Kirk don’t always see eye to eye on how things are. But they still accomplish so much together.”

Ah. He’d almost been totally fooled. Tony stills and forces himself to meet those ice-blue eyes. Jesus God, did Rogers really have to look like that all the time?

“Well then,” he says, “you should also know that Spock, despite his seemingly cold nature, is often right in most situations. Did you want the left room or the right room? Because I went ahead and took the right room. There’s an enormous air conditioning unit sticking through the window of the left.”

“Tony…”

He looks away and carefully lets out a sigh.

“Can we not, just now, okay?” he asks, the careless tone draining away from him. He forces himself to look at Steve again. Pretty blue eyes filled with pain.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

Tony grits his teeth against the sentiment. It was spoken in the same soft, somber tone that Rogers had used at least half a dozen times after Russia. In letters and on voicemails from calls he had not answered.

*

The area they are in was the Smoky Mountains (part of some national forest, he thought), and though they were within twenty or so minutes of the nearest town it felt like the middle of nowhere. Plenty of hiking trails, Steve had told him. _So you can remember what exercise on something other than a treadmill feels like._

Touche, Rogers, touche.

They eat pizza for dinner and do some small exploring around the cabin until dusk. Then they sit on the couch and argue over what to watch until it was time to turn in.

When he was ready for bed Tony searches all his bags, but he’d forgotten his sleeping pills.

“Damnit.”

He runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. Terrific. In addition to helping him sleep they kept the dreams at bay.

“Lose something?” asks Steve, standing in the doorway.

“No, just forgot something. Not important. I’ll see you in the morning. Eight o’clock?”

Steve nods, leaning against the door frame in a dark green tank top, arms crossed. “Eight o’clock,” he said quietly. Tony refuses to look at him for more than a second. It ticks into several seconds and finally Steve turns away. Tony shuts the door behind him and leans his forehead against it. Fuck. What was he thinking, coming here and agreeing to this? A week with Steve Rogers and no one else. Steve felt guilty and he was indulging him. But why? He wasn’t ready to forgive him. Not yet.

He wakes the next morning with vague images still in his head of a familiar dream. Luckily he couldn’t recall it, save for feeling very small and alone in it. He knows that damn hole in the sky over New York City had been a part of it.

*

They eat breakfast and start out on a trail, bringing backpacks with them. He lets Steve lead the way, trail map in hand, as he rambles on about the lengths of the trails and what wildlife lived in the area and other things Tony cannot seem to focus on. He focuses on the terrain and putting one foot in front of the other, behind Steve. They work up a sweat in a couple of hours as the sun grows warmer.

Just when he is ready to forfeit and ask for a break they reach the top of a hill with a lookout down the other side.

“Ah, here we are,” says Steve. “Beautiful.”

The view is impressive. Miles of North Carolina wilderness stretch out before them; a carpet of green, with a river slicing through it. It’s been a long time since Tony has seen such a sight, or stopped to admire it. Yet he turns to look at Steve. Steve’s eyes scan the horizon, mouth quirked up in a small smile. He squeezes water from his water bottle over his head and down his face. It mingles with the sweat there, running down his neck and moistening the top of his shirt.

They sit down on a fallen log and have sandwiches for lunch, speaking little. There is the sounds of birds in the trees around them and an occasional snap of twigs from other forest animals. No cars or planes or trains. Yet just underneath the serenity Tony feels the tightness, the oppression between their two bodies. He is angry still, but he begins to face the uncomfortable truth that he does not want this oppression between them, not like this.

“Did Kirk and Spock ever eat lunch on some alien log somewhere?” he muses out loud. Lame. But it works. Steve swallows a mouthful of sandwich and answers.

“No, but there were several episodes where you could tell they were in a certain region of earth. Funny, how back then it was all just science _fiction._ No one would have imagined actual aliens. But at least the real aliens look a hell of a lot better than the costumed ones.”

“Language,” says Tony, without even thinking about it. It comes out naturally and Steve glances at him and for the first time he smiles just as naturally. The moment seems to swell and freeze for a precious few seconds between them. Tony feels it acutely and his breast lightens. Then he feels the moment slipping away. Steve stands and swings his arms back and forth, stretching.

“Well, guess we’d better start back,” he says, with forced lightness.

Tony’s tongue fights inside his mouth to speak, wanting to say something, anything, to break through the wall between them. But Steve doesn’t look at him again as he hefts his pack on his back again and turns away.

He hears Jarvis’ voice inside his head. _Warning. System Overload. Caution is advised._

Tony bites the tip of his tongue, emotion roiling around in his chest. He stands and follows Steve back down the trail.

They arrive back at the cabin before sunset and take showers to wash off the sweat and dirt of their hike. That night Tony’s hand strays to reach for his sleeping pills again before he realizes he has none. Luckily the hike has worn him down enough for the oblivion of sleep to find him, but not for long.

_He chases Bucky Barnes through the bunker, intent on killing him. But Steve is there, blocking his every move. He stands between them, eyes pleading and mouth soft. ‘Tony please don’t. I love you.’_

_He smashes his fist underneath Steve’s jaw, sending him flying backward. He lunges on top of him, hands around his throat. Steve offers no resistance._

_‘Finish me then,’ he says, tears streaming down his face. ‘But know I kept this from you out of love.’_

_Tony grinds his teeth together, his rage filling every molecule of his body. He lifts Steve’s shield in his hands and brings it down…_

Tony jerks awake. He’s sitting straight up in bed. Cold sweat covers his body. His heart is racing and he feels as though he’s just hiked ten miles.

“Oh fuck. Fuck!” he wails into the empty room.

He gets up and quietly goes into the bathroom, splashing cold water over his face and calming himself. He takes several deep breaths, but his nerves are too shaken to go back to bed. Instead he slips on his shoes and goes outside. The night is deathly dark out here, save for the moonlight from above. He lets his eyes adjust accordingly. He leans his forearms against the railing of the wrap-around porch and closes his eyes. He is shaking, he realizes. Jarvis again.

_The dream was only a manifestation of strong feelings, a common symptom of guilt in humans. They rarely reflect true intentions._

He had not wanted Steve dead then, that was true. But that rage had been there, aimed at Steve’s closest friend. Another uncomfortable truth snaked its way into his mind, one he had been fighting against. And its color was green.

He curses softly to himself. He has no right to be jealous over Bucky. And yet he cannot not shake the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, his rage at both of them was not born entirely out of learning the truth of his parents’ deaths.

Was he so hopelessly lost to Steve, that he would be jealous over a best friend?

Of course he was.

He tries to imagine his mind as a slate and erases all the thoughts on it. Christ, if he could find a moment’s peace…

A gradual sound finds his ears. It’s coming from inside and behind him. Steve’s bedroom window is just over his left shoulder. He sees the window is cracked. The sounds are coming from within. He softly walks over to it and quickly realizes what he is hearing, breath catching in his throat. It’s a steady fapping sound, of slick skin being pulled on over and over.

Like a sailor pulled towards a siren Tony approaches the window. He can just make out Steve’s bed and the body on top of it. Steve is pant-less, briefs pooled around his ankles. Impossibly wide thighs writhe over the sheets as Steve’s fist pulls over his engorged cock. The back of his head is pressed tightly against the mattress, eyes screwed shut. His breath comes out in short pants. Tony’s own groin stirs, his gut fluttery. He watches as Steve fucks into his own hand, watches the slide of his cock-head and how Steve reaches down and cups his balls, pulling up on them. A deep moan escapes his throat. Tony fights off a similar sound, throat going dry.

Steve’s thumb rubs the underside of his head and he reacts instantly, mouth going slack as a more audible moan escapes him. Then he lifts his head and looks down at himself, sliding his fist over his shaft with one hand and reaching down, down, between his thighs to touch himself with a finger.

Tony bites down on his bottom lip until it aches, breathing hard through his nostrils. Steve’s body goes rigid, arching slightly as he comes. Tony stares, fixated, at the white juices that gush out of his cock and run down over his fist. Steve’s face relaxes, eyes fluttering, as he slows down and fucks himself gently…

Tony tears himself away, very quietly backing up and then turning around. He loiters for several minutes outside, waiting for Steve to drift back to sleep, he hopes. Then he very carefully opens the door and slips back inside. He reaches his room across from Steve’s. There is no sound coming from behind his door. Tony crawls back in bed. His own cock is heavy between his legs but he dares not touch it.

*

They follow the same routine the next morning, until Steve begins talking about where to go that day.

“Actually I already know where to go,” says Tony with his usual swiftness, bouncing up off the couch.

Steve pauses, mildly surprised.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “This should be interesting.”

“Yep. Come on, let’s go.”

“Well do I need to pack anything? A lunch, maybe…”

“Already done.”

Tony pats his backpack to indicate he’s packed for two. Normally he would feel smug at Steve’s perplexed look, one eyebrow cocked, but today he can only feel the butterflies in his stomach.

Wordlessly they leave the cabin and Tony leads the way, beginning on the same trail as yesterday. When they reach the fork where the path branches into a different trail Tony ignores it and continues straight ahead.

“That’s where we went yesterday,” says Steve behind him.

“Yep,” says Tony as lightly as he can manage. He doesn’t stop, just plods on ahead. After a few seconds he hears the crunch of leaves under foot as Steve follows him.

Tony’s mind is spinning the entire way. He still isn’t sure what he wants to say to Steve but he knows he must say it. He can see the clearing up ahead, just another fifty or so feet, when he stops suddenly in his tracks. Steve nearly runs into him and Tony puts out his arm, heeding him to halt.

There, just in front of the clearing, are two deer. Tony is no wildlife expert but he suspects it’s unusual for two male deer to be together. Their smallish antlers are covered in grayish fuzz…what’s the word?...velvet. They both raise their heads at the same moment, spooked. Steve whispers something in awe just behind his right shoulder.

“Incredible,” he says.

The deer appear to have been feeding together. Tony stares at them and they stare back a moment longer, then bounce off on long legs back into deeper woods, rustling a few leaves but otherwise silent.

Steve is grinning broadly and lets out a laugh. Tony can’t help the smile on his own face.

“Guess their women got tired of them and kicked them out of the house,” he quips.

“That was...very cool and very weird,” says Steve, still trying on modern slang (modern by his standards, anyway). “Bucks are generally not sociable, especially only a few months away from the rutting season.”

Tony stares openly at him.

“Please,” Steve rolls his eyes. “They’re deer, Tony. They did exist in the 40s, you know. And I…”

“Learned a lot as a boy scout, I know,” Tony supplies.

Crooked grin.

“You’re an ass.”

Tony swallows his usual retort. Instead he falls silent again and continues into the clearing. He sits on the log and takes a drink of water, staring out at the rolling green hills below him again. Steve stands beside him but does not sit. He stands straight as a statue, brows knitted together as he takes in the view.

Tony licks his lips.

“I know why we’re here,” he says at last. Steve looks down at the ground and sighs. Tony can see the slight clench of his jaw, can sense him tensing.

“Things fall apart,” he continues, “and you can’t expect them to be the way they were before.”

“Tony—”

“Let me finish. There’s just so much to work through. Trust has to be built again, on both sides, and you have to figure out if you’re even the same person you were before, if you can fit into each other’s lives.”

He swallows hard and forces his eyes up to Steve. Those icy blues look at him, fragile as glass now and perhaps ready to break.

“It’s a long and important process,” Tony says. “But can we…can we just skip it?”

Steve looks at him in confusion, lips parting ever so slightly.

_Danger, Will Robinson, danger._

Tony ignores the voice, his tongue working of its own accord.

“Can you just be kissing me now?”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath and then he’s _there,_ in front of Tony and crushing their lips together. Hands that have maimed and killed others are holding Tony’s face, warm and tender, fingertips brushing into his hair.

_We have reached critical velocity. System implosion imminent._

Tony opens his mouth and lets Steve in, their tongues mingling together and suddenly starved. His hands fumble up underneath Steve’s shirt and grip the strong muscles there. Steve moans at the touch. He grinds their hips together over and over, until Tony can barely breathe or think straight. Steve’s lips find the curve of his neck and suck mark after mark onto his skin.

“I’m sorry Tony, I’m so sorry,” sobs Steve.

“I’m sorry too,” Tony pants out. “I’m sorry about Bucky.”

Steve’s hands come around to his waist and he digs his fingers in underneath Tony’s jeans, squeezing his ass and pushing their hips together again. Tony groans, feeling himself harden. He lifts up Steve’s shirt and sucks on a nipple. It is already hard and peaked in his mouth. Steve makes a small noise, fingers raking through Tony’s hair. Tony drops down and unbuttons Steve’s pants, giving them a few good yanks. He mouths over the shape of his cock through his briefs and feels it harden as he does so.

Steve’s hand comes up to his shoulder, roughly tearing fabric to get his hand down inside Tony’s shirt, hand rubbing hard down his shoulder blade. Tony pulls down Steve’s briefs and his cock springs free. The mere sight of it makes Tony whimper.

He takes it into his mouth, loosely working his lips and tongue until Steve is stiff as a board inside him.

“Oh fuck, oh god,” Steve cries out, and Tony has to look up to make sure he isn’t actually crying.

He tightens his lips and pulls hard on Steve’s cock, sucking on the tip, then moves to fondle his balls one by one. The sounds Steve makes are so very missed and Tony wants them to go on forever. The thought makes him palm his own crotch. The confines of his jeans are too tight. He stands to unfasten them. Steve immediately crushes their lips together again and Tony has to fumble with his jeans. Oh god, he needs this, wants this, loves this.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says into Steve’s ear. “Please.”

It’s the closest to begging he can remember being. He’s pleasantly light-headed as Steve turns him around, yanking down his jeans and boxers in one go. Tony bends over the fallen log, palms flat against it. He barely has time to think, to catch his breath, when he feels a soft but demanding tongue exploring his cleft, two sets of fingers parting his cheeks. The whimper in his chest turns into a moan by the time it reaches his lips. Steve spits. It hits him dead center and is followed by an anxious finger, circling and pressing against his rim.

He shifts against the log and drops to his knees for comfort. Steve easily follows the motion. He flicks his tongue rapidly over his hole. Tony wants to howl like a fucking wolf. Instead he settles for arching his back and pressing himself into Steve as much as he can.

“Inside,” he says.

Steve complies a moment later, pressing a finger inside him slowly, up to the first knuckle, then the second.

“Oh please,” Tony hears himself say, sounding like a man begging for his life. Steve’s lips grace his tailbone and bite gently over a cheek. His other hand comes around to Tony’s front side, finding his balls. He pulls down on them and wiggles his finger inside his ass, then inserts a second digit. Tony digs his fingers into the wood of the log. The burn passes, with hot pleasure following in its wake as Steve slowly fucks him. A few minutes later and the two fingers are joined by Steve’s tongue, forcing itself in-between and breaching him as well.

Tony lets out a long moan, moving sloppily into the touch.

“Now,” he says, his voice thick and raspy.

The fingers and tongue withdraw and he turns around, back against the log. Steve is magnificent. He still has his shirt on, soaked with sweat and clinging in all the right places but everything below is bare skin. He spits and strokes his cock a few times and Tony wonders idly if he could come just from watching Steve like this.

“Up,” says Steve. Tony somehow manages to stand. Steve bends slightly, arms going around Tony low and Tony sees his meaning. He lets himself be hoisted up bodily into Steve so that he’s in Steve’s arms, legs wrapped around him. Steve’s true strength is exhilarating and reminds him of the first time he put on the suit and soared into the sky, a little bit closer to heaven.

The feeling is the same now as he’s straddling the captain, with Steve’s strong arms under him. Steve braces his legs against the log and Tony shifts upward. Steve lets one arm fall, raising his cock to its target.

Tony locks his arms around Steve’s neck and they look at each other, _really_ look at each other, for the first time in ages.

Their lips meet and this time the kiss is slow and measured but no less passionate. Steve hums deep in his throat. Tony feels the press of his cock against his rim. Slowly, slowly, it forces its way inside.

His breath leaves him all over again and his gut rolls with pleasure. Steve’s own breath stutters as he pushes in, cheeks flushed rosy and blue eyes nearly black. Steve’s cock feels huge inside him; warm and hard and wanting.

Steve gives a single thrust and then another. Tony’s breath hitches each time. He lets his head drop back as Steve builds them into a rhythm. He can feel the sweat trickling down his back and his forehead in the day’s heat. He welcomes it, welcomes every ounce of moisture between them, slickening them together.

Steve is kissing him like he is Persian silk even as his cock grows more forceful. Tony can barely stand it. He ruts his own cock up against Steve’s massive chest, rubbing it into the sweat that beads there.

“More, faster,” he whispers like honey, thick and raw. He wants nothing but Steve filling him and making him whole once more, after so much anguish and absence.

“Fuck Tony,” Steve whines out. He quickens his pace, cock now slamming inside him. Tony cries out over and over, burying his head into the crook of Steve’s neck. He manages to bite down a little hard. Steve curses loudly and rolls his hips, cock shoving up deep against Tony’s prostrate. Tony clamps down on a fistful of damp blonde hair, pulling Steve’s head back. Steve doesn’t break pace, his cock driving in deep with every thrust, until Tony starts to feel his orgasm filling up deep in his gut.

“Yes please, make me come, make me come hard,” he begs.

Steve looks at him, eyes little more than slits. Their lips touch but can do little more. Tony’s frame shakes violently as Steve fucks into him mercilessly now, forcing their end.

Tony reaches down between them and touches himself and his orgasm tumbles over him. He howls and then moans, his strokes in time with the cock inside of him. It’s almost too much and he feels light-headed again. Then he feels Steve tensing underneath him, muscles impossibly taut. Steve slows down and then freezes inside him. Tony kisses the pulse on his neck as he feels Steve empty inside him. Steve lets out a low moan.

Moments later Tony feels hot come around his hole. He leans back and they both sigh, smiling and even blushing. Steve bites down on his own bottom lip and gently fucks him some more before they are both totally spent.

Steve sets him down on the ground and Tony has to cling to him a moment longer, trying to get his bearings.

“I…didn’t overdo it, did I?” Steve asks, suddenly sheepish.

“No. No, no,” says Tony, feeling slightly drunk. “I am Iron Man, after all.”

Steve flashes a broad smile and Tony wants to melt at the sight.

They clean up and head back down the trail. It’s still light outside when they reach the cabin and Tony suggests they grill out with the grill already provided them at the cabin.

“I didn’t know you knew how to grill,” says Steve.

“Me neither. I need you to google ‘how to grill hot dogs.’ Or, better yet, ask Alexa.”

Steve snorted. “Who’s Alexa?”

*

For the remainder of their stay they found other trails to walk but mostly they stayed at the cabin. Never before had Tony been so happy to merely sit down and watch re-runs of Star Trek before.

Things were not as they had been, he knew. And he suspected things would only keep changing for both himself and The Avengers. But if he could hold on to this one constant, in the form of an old blonde soldier, his North Star, then perhaps, just perhaps, some things would never change.

**Author's Note:**

> (I shamelessly admit to using BtVS and a bit of Tara's dialogue to Willow for Tony's words to Steve towards the end, don't judge me, it's all gay.)


End file.
